


Centuries Apart

by daftalchemist



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal Sex, Carlos discovers an egg kink, Eldritch Abomination Cecil, I should just tag it just in case, Inflation, M/M, Mpreg, Oviposition, kind of, not really but sort of, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1945674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daftalchemist/pseuds/daftalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil periodically undergoes a "cycle", but unfortunately those cycles are too far apart for him to remember when they'll occur. When the next one sneaks up on him, Carlos comes to his rescue, and finds he's far more excited by how monstrous his boyfriend is than he'd ever anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Centuries Apart

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for absolutely nothing

He should have noticed the warning signs sooner, but a generous helping of somewhat domestic bliss had clouded Cecil’s thoughts, made him lose track of time. It was a transitioning period; not quite at the point where he and Carlos were living together but certainly more than just dating. Cecil’s apartment had proved a little too hazardous to the scientist, who seemed incapable of memorizing the layout of the wards placed around the building, so their weeks had been filled with what had jokingly been referred to as “sleep overs” at Carlos’ place. Of course, they were so much more.

It wasn’t just sex that they enjoyed on those nights, although there was plenty of that. Carlos was gorgeous, more than just a little well-endowed, and Cecil loved to moan prettily for him, but it was so much more than that. There was the closeness, knowing that there was someone nearby who cared, snuggling on the couch, sharing meals. Carlos spoiled Cecil with homemade meals, and he loved it. For weeks he bathed in the adoring attention of his handsome scientist, and it was the best time of his life.

So when Cecil first began to notice that his clothes felt a little tighter than usual, he didn’t think much of it. He’d been sharing dinners with his loving boyfriend for so long now. What had started as warm, delicious, skillfully crafted, boring dinners on repeat turned into forays into new recipes, and he was soon being welcomed home with lavish meals, each one different than the last. It was amazing, and therefore no wonder he had to loosen his belt a notch or two. Being hand-fed chocolate-covered strawberries would do that to a guy’s waist.

Carlos certainly didn’t mind. He grinned and poked the slight chub that had begun to bulge from Cecil’s stomach, making some comment on how he looked well cared for. Cecil giggled as Carlos kissed his belly, mistaking the slight gurgling feeling in his gut for digestion, the slight discomfort as too much pasta settling in his stomach. But the discomfort never quite went away; still with him in the morning, and even days later when he found that the button on his pants was digging quite uncomfortably into his skin.

“Do you think I should start cooking less?” Carlos asked the next morning, glancing at the rather unflattering sweatpants Cecil had traded his smart dress slacks in for, and setting a stack of pancakes on the table. “It’s just that… well, my mother used to cook a lot. I think I may have picked up some of that from her.”

Cecil’s stomach growled and churned, an almost insatiable hunger gnawing at his insides, and he did his best to hide how he clutched his stomach under the table.

“It’s not necessary, Carlos,” he said, forced smile and strained voice, his eyes all but glued to the plate in front of him. “I like your food.”

It wasn’t just Carlos’ food, he soon found, filling his thoughts and his stomach. It was any food, and it was constant. Long lunches, endless snacking. By the end of the week his stomach was swollen and heavy, but finally full.

It was in that moment, perhaps, when his frenzy had subsided and he was staring at the aftermath of his binge, that Cecil should have become suspicious. His hunger had been abnormal, caused him to hide away in his apartment and tell Carlos he was too sick to see him, when in truth he was too ashamed. But the next day, his bulging gut was gone, as was the hunger, as though he had miraculously misplaced it all in his sleep. It was odd, of course, but so were many other things about Cecil. It was nearly impossible to tell how his monstrous form would react to stimuli from one moment to the next, so he pulled on his smart dress slacks, tucked his finest buttondown shirt into the hem, and he went to work.

Or at least he tried to.

As he reached the bottom step of his apartment building, the niggling pain in his abdomen that had started at the top was searing his insides, and the shirt that had been tucked so nicely into his slacks was quickly losing buttons as the stomach that had seemed so wonderfully thin just that morning rapidly began to expand.

He collapsed, face twisted in agony and shifting into something much more horrifying. Multiple eyes cried thick plumes of smoke as he all but clawed his shirt from his pants, tore open the fly. His swollen belly hung heavily between his legs, roiling angrily in a way that seemed almost familiar. He clutched it, wailing loudly, doubling over on the stairs at a pressure that threatened to tear his body in half if not released. The skin was pulled taut, but what was underneath was soft, bumpy, moving somehow. He gasped as the writhing mass pressed lower and screeched with fear, remembering something he never should have forgotten.

He didn’t know how he managed to free his cell phone from his pocket, or how he maneuvered his clawed thumbs over the touch screen accurately enough to dial Carlos’ number. He was certain he never actually heard him pick up, too busy crying out in agony as he writhed against hard wooden stairs, but Carlos still found him somehow.

“Cecil!” he gasped, rushing to his side, nearly slipping on a pool of thick fluid that had soaked through Cecil’s torn slacks and begun to puddle between his legs. “Wh-what happened? What’s wrong?”

Half of Cecil’s eyes opened just enough to squint at Carlos, and he reached out for him, grasping the lapel of his labcoat and pulling him closer.

“Eggs,” he choked out around pained sobs, clutching his distended stomach and smacking his head back against the stairs. “Th-they’re… eggs.”

Carlos gaped at him, confusion warring with scientific curiosity. “So you… lay eggs? Since when?”

Cecil shook his head with a frustrated shriek. “Carlos, _please_!”

“Right! Of course,” he responded, slinging one of Cecil’s arms over his shoulder and struggling to pull him to his feet.

The weight of him was almost unbearable, though not surprising. His stomach hung low, sloshing about almost unnaturally as the eggs continuously bumped against each other, forming raised bumps in his skin. Carlos found himself watching them rise and fall with great interest, perhaps even some excitement, though it made him feel incredibly guilty. Each step took an eternity to climb, each breath an agony for his poor boyfriend, and yet all he could think of was touching that stretched skin, feeling what moved beneath it.

Cecil collapsed before they made it down his hall, so close to the door and yet unable to reach it. His body seemed incapable of handling what was happening to it; his manifestations coming and going erratically until his cheeks were soaked with tears and his eyes an agitated red from smoke. He sat back against the wall, legs spread wide, his arms cradling his aching stomach as he leaned back, angled his hips upwards. Only then did Carlos notice the odd bulge in his slacks, something that he’d never seen before tenting the soaked fabric. He placed a hand on Cecil’s belly, a thrill going up his spine and causing a stirring sensation in his own gut that felt rather inappropriately timed.

“Cecil, what’s happening?” he asked, feeling the eggs shift under his fingers.

“I forgot,” the radio host whimpered. “My cycle. I’m sorry… I forgot.”

Carlos’ eyes widened. “Are you… pregnant?”

Cecil laughed, or at least tried to. The sound was strained, taking almost as much effort for him to produce as it had for him to climb those last few stairs. “I don’t know. It’s… possible.”

He threw his head back with a sob, smoke billowing from a handful of pitch black eyes while tears streamed from the rest, and somewhere in that incoherent mess of pain, Carlos heard another pitiful apology.

Perhaps he should have been angry or terrified. Perhaps he should have felt lied to, even tricked, but that wasn’t what he felt. What Carlos felt was a large number of eggs nudging against his inside of his boyfriend’s stomach; a stomach that was so large that he couldn’t understand how he had managed to make it into the hallway at all, let alone breathe. What he felt was a burning desire to help Cecil feel better, and an intense need to ignore the fact that the both the burn and the desire were centered a little too strongly around his own achingly hard cock.

He swallowed thickly and compartmentalized this newly discovered part of his personality as he’d done with all the other discoveries he’d ever made in Night Vale; saving them up to address at a later date, perhaps in the company of a licensed professional.

“What do you need?” he asked, mouth dry, tongue thick, but voice kind.

Cecil raised his head, gazed at Carlos with so many eyes full of worry, and murmured, “I need… a host.”

If bad decisions were airplanes, Carlos’ life would be a fully functional international airport by now, but his cock had rendered his brain useless, and he hardly cared to change that now.

“Use me,” he insisted, pressing himself between Cecil’s legs, eyes fluttering shut as their stomachs touched. This was a bad decision--the absolute worst--and every fiber of his being knew that, but _gods_ he couldn’t wait to make it.

Cecil shook his head, brushed a clawed hand past the scientist’s cheek. “Carlos, I can’t….”

“ _Use_ me, Cecil!” he shouted, grabbing the collar of his torn buttondown shirt, feeling the eggs shift around himself as his body sunk just a little into Cecil’s belly. Cecil screeched, the gentle touch on Carlos’ cheek becoming a hard grasp of thick curls, but he didn’t push Carlos away.

The sound of fabric tearing was punctuated with something thick and wet slapping against Carlos’ thigh, and he reached down to feel some sort of fleshy appendage that was incredibly wide at the base and tapered towards the end, leaking the same thick fluid that was quickly staining the floor beneath them.

“Th-that’s for, uh…,” Cecil began, but found himself unable to finish the explanation before Carlos’ lips were crushed against his, his distended belly crushed against his body, and the strong hand tugging at the appendage stimulated the first contraction.

Cecil groaned loudly into Carlos’ mouth, his sharp teeth catching on soft skin and filling his mouth with the rusty taste of blood, but Carlos hardly seemed to mind it trickling down his chin. He had felt the constriction in Cecil’s gut, immediately sat back on his heels, and continued running his hand along the slick length of his ovipositor.

It was incredibly long, perhaps the size of his forearm, though not quite as thick, and had either come from or replaced the mass of tendrils he normally had. The hole at its tip was quite pronounced, needing to be wide enough to fit an egg through, and against Carlos’ better judgement, he pressed it to his lips, kissed and sucked gently. Cecil _squealed_ , gouging his claws into the carpet and thrusting forward as well as his hulking mass would allow. Something solid pressed against Carlos’ palm at the base of the appendage, and he tightened his grip behind it, pulling it towards himself, watching in awe as a rush of fluid was followed by the first of the eggs stretching the hole open and falling lightly into his hand.

It was small, no larger than a lemon, and soft. Not leathery like a lizard’s egg, but certainly not solid like a bird’s. He squeezed it between his fingers until a distressed shriek from Cecil made him drop it, brought him back to his senses.

“It won’t survive anyway,” he commented, eyes fixed on the way the bulge in Cecil’s abdomen was moving downwards, pressing towards his groin, waiting to be released. Carlos bit his bloody lip and quickly unbuttoned his flannel, undid his pants. “Lie back, Cecil. Let me take care of you.”

Cecil’s movements were slow, hesitant, sluggish. He pushed his massive form further from the wall, revealing more of his thighs and groin from beneath his stomach.

It would have made sense for Carlos to work himself open, to prepare himself for the sort of onslaught he was about to eagerly receive. The tip of the ovipositor was stretched, wider than it had been, but slicker than Cecil’s tendrils had ever been. He moaned loudly as he lowered himself onto it slowly, stopping halfway down, but there was no pain. Instead there was a tingling sensation, something that was barely even there but quickly growing in strength, penetrating deep into his muscles and organs. His moans grew louder, and was surprised when he ass touched Cecil’s thighs, unable to remember continuing to lower himself onto the appendage.

Cecil’s eyes were wide, his breath steady but shallow, simply watching as Carlos gripped his swollen belly and began to bounce on the fluid-slicked appendage, his precum joining the mess between his legs.

Carlos felt Cecil’s stomach contract beneath his fingers, felt the base of the appendage buried inside him thicken with the next egg, felt the rush of fluid from the tip coating his insides, but felt little else beyond that. The ovipositor thickened in waves as the eggs began to push through, spurting thick streams of the fluid inside him as each one was squeezed in. Carlos continued to fuck himself on it, nudging them deeper, hard lumps beginning to form just beneath his skin. The tingling from a moment ago had become more of a haze, drowning his mind and body in pleasure. Cecil’s stomach was growing less full beneath his hands, and his own was beginning to fill with an amazing pressure.

Carlos looked down and grinned at the mounds bulging out his stomach from beneath the open flannel, running his fingers lovingly over them. So many inside him, but still so many more to go. He began to feel heavy, his legs unable to lift himself as easily as they had been, and he began to worry, which quickly gave way to regret. Cecil was a monster; his body was malleable and strong, and even _he_ had been in agony at how enormous he was. How was Carlos, a tiny human, supposed to fit all of them inside himself?

His legs gave out, his belly too full, too heavy. He settled heavily on the ovipositor, whimpering pathetically as another egg was forced in. The pressure grew stronger, bearing down on his prostate. He couldn’t move, though he wanted to. Wanted to fill himself, wanted a release.

Cecil’s arms wrapped around him and he felt himself moving, but only barely, like the memory of an action that had taken place so long ago. The ovipositor began thrusting, fluid filled him, the tingling returned and his growing belly hung low.

“I’ve got you,” Cecil whispered in his ear, and Carlos realized the radio host was _behind_ him now, holding him close and fucking him gently. He nudged another egg in, pressing the massive clutch deeper, and Carlos’ body spasmed around it.

“C-cecil,” he gasped, mouth hanging open in a wordless cry, and he felt a hand quickly wrap around his cock just in time to milk him through the orgasm that quaked through his body, threatening to push the eggs out even as Cecil forced them deeper. Stars burst behind Carlos’ eyes, the pleasure refusing to cease as more and more eggs were squeezed past his abused prostate. His cock twitched feebly, spent but still trying to come. There was another rush of fluid, another clutch of eggs. His stomach was almost as large as Cecil’s had been, but he felt no pain, no real discomfort. He pressed his hands against the swollen flesh, shuddering with ecstasy at how full he was.

“H-how?” he croaked out, but Cecil shushed him gently, placed a hand over his belly, rubbed loving circles into the skin and kissed his neck.

“The fluid,” he replied, licking a stripe along Carlos’ throat, tasting the salty tang of sweat on his tongue. “You’re almost done.”

Carlos nodded, his head falling back in full-bodied euphoria, but remembered no more, lost somewhere in a dark place between pleasure and exhaustion.

He awoke slowly some time later, his body feeling heavy and sluggish. His throat was dry, his muscles ached, his mind almost seemed to refuse to work, to remember what had happened. He forced it to, dragged it all back up as he shifted beneath the sheets, sighing happily and touching his belly. He sat up with a start, naked and alone in Cecil’s bed, his stomach as flat as a board.

“C-cecil!” he shouted before noticing a dark shape lit by pale moonlight out of the corner of his eye.

Cecil turned from gazing out the window, adjusted the blanket covering his lap and his chair. His cheeks shone, and the room stank of smoke.

“Cecil?” Carlos repeated, hand still pressed firmly against his stomach, wondering if he had dreamed everything that had happened, until he felt the sticky mess on the sheets stuck to his thighs. “What happened?”

Cecil looked away again, back out the window and into the thoughts swimming around his mind.

“I guess… I wasn’t pregnant after all.”

 


End file.
